


Strip For, Or Stripped Of, My Dignity

by WildcatPacer



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-27 00:57:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12070470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildcatPacer/pseuds/WildcatPacer
Summary: Katniss's family has fallen on hard times. So she and her mother do the only thing they can: sell themselves. Along the way, will Katniss be able to let go of the deep mistrust she holds on men?





	1. Chapter 1

 

**Chapter 1: Enlist with our Sisters**

We are the poorest family in all of District 12. Which means we just might be the poorest family in all of Panem.

It's a hard thing to have to admit, when my mother and sister have a Healing business that, while by no means successful, is at least continuous. But most of our patients pay for Mother and Prim's services in compensation other than money, and those that do pay in cash can only give up so much themselves.

I am not a Healer. To be a Healer is to be gentle and caring, even possess an almost sexual tenderness in your work. To be a Healer is to be feminine, and to thus share the desires of most women: to get married, to keep a house, to make love with a man who is one's husband. To have his babies.

That isn't me. I like to think of myself as fiercely independent, unable to be tamed. Some might call me a shrew, a bitch. That's just fine by me. Meanwhile, I will be busy feeding my family the only way I know how: hunting.

I hunt rabbits. Squirrels. Deer. All of these I sell in the Hob for money, and whatever I have left feeds my family. But the seasons have been growing longer and harsher. Longer, colder winters. Longer, hotter summers. Which means that less and less in the way of game is there for the taking.

My family and I have only had soup to eat for the past two weeks now. No meat. And this lack of nutrition has shown in our feminine bodies. My ribs are beginning to show. So are Mother's, accentuating her aging breasts that once nursed two babies in their prime.

Even in the hardest moments after my father died in a mining accident when I was eleven, Mother has been detached. Drained of all energy. But nothing has been as bad as it is now. And somehow, the gravity of our situation has started to make my mother rouse herself for the first time in a good five years. She wants to find an answer, help me find an answer - if not necessarily for our own sakes, then for Primrose, who is only twelve years old.

Unfortunately, there are no answers left in which we can still maintain our dignity. And right now, we are both beginning to see that the only answers left are the ones that require us to make very tough decisions. And tough sacrifices. Even if one of those things sacrificed upon the altar is our own dignity.

There is a lucrative prostitution ring in District 12. A monopoly on the business is held by our Head Peacekeeper, Cray, and even run out of the Peacekeeper barracks. Most of these soldiers who discipline 12 come from foreign districts, and their militarized lifestyle leaves them little time in the way of sex, romance or courtship. Which means that if they see something sweet, they better grab it quick. And through contrived circumstances. If presented with it only as an option and not as a necessity, no respectable woman in District 12 would freely lie down in bed with a Peacekeeper. Rape is not an uncommon occurrence. But many of these soldiers are able to get their fix through the sex trade a largely unsupervised Cray has set up in this backwater of a district. And they do so with women and young girls that, though desperate and poor, are still far better off than Mother, Primrose and I.

Which only makes me wonder how Mother and I have avoided this inevitability for as long as we have.

I am 16. Old enough for the age of consent. And I learned more than I would ever want to about sex in our Family Planning classes in school. There are girls my age who are already married, or are at least getting married. Within a few years, they will have children of their own. It sounds awfully young, but Mother was 19 when she Toasted the bread and married Daddy. And though they struggled with fertility problems early on in their marriage, they eventually had me, and then, Prim.

Mother is only 40. Not quite at the end of her childbearing years, but the mark is not far off. She was born a Merchant, and is, with her blonde hair and blue eyes customary of that status, still pretty.

Primrose will not be involved in this. Not for a long time and possibly not ever, if we can help it. With any luck, she will come of age and marry a nice man with some standing so as to at least get economic security for herself. Mother won't remarry; she considers herself too old. And I have vowed to never wed. The only Everdeen daughter who will ever wear our mother's bridal gown is Prim. Though Mother has, on more than one occasion, tried to gently encourage me to find a husband to marry. If not for love, then for economic advantage - Mother knows my views on men. I detest almost all men.

Which is why I feel utterly repulsed that I have to do what must be done to feed my family.

* * *

Mother and I stand, shoulder to shoulder, in front of the Head Peacekeeper's house. I would rather be anywhere but here. But if I have to be, at least I'll have a friend with me. Even if that friend is my mother. I will my fist to connect with the door's wood.

Upon answering, Head Peacekeeper Cray seems surprised to see me, least of all daughter AND mother. He and I have spied each other in the Hob often enough, and Cray has been unusually eager in offering to let him accept my trades with unconventional forms of payment. Or for  _him_  to accept my technically illegal dealings with unconventional forms of payment. Bribery of the highest order. And my stubborn pride had always compelled me to refuse his advances.

Until now.

"And what can I do for you, huntress?" he growls.

"I am sure you could do a lot for my mother and me," I say in my best seductive voice.

Cray seems genuinely surprised that the both of us are enlisting our services as prostitutes, which makes me wonder if he has an aversion to older women like Mother, and also makes me question the man's intelligence. But he makes the best of it by looking positively delighted that at least I am here.

"It's nice to hear you're so... open to suggestions," he purrs. He ushers Mother and I inside and walks around us once to inspect us.

"You'll both do. Come by the barracks tonight at midnight to begin your services. Look pretty. Wear the nicest clothes you own."


	2. Make Money in Our Sleep

**Chapter 2: Make Money in our Sleep**

The nicest clothes we own consist of my blue Reaping dress from my mother's Merchant days. Mother dons a faded gray dress before doing my hair up in the signature braid down my back. We both look at ourselves in the dirty mirror.

"Now you look beautiful, too," Mother says softly. But there is something in her voice that sounds dead. Resigned.

From where she has been watching us on the nearby settee, Prim asks, "Where are you both going?"

"Party at the Hob," Mother lies with surprising ease. "Time for... bed, Primrose." She nearly cracks, but recovers and escorts my baby sister to the bedroom we young girls share. Prim does not appear to suspect, or even notice, the falter.

While they are upstairs, I sneak a bottle from what is technically called our liquor cabinet. It only has one old bottle in it - wine that my parents apparently drank at their wedding, and has remained unopened since my father died. I take a long swig from the thing, while still trying to leave some liquid inside out of reverence for my Daddy. I hardly ever drink, so the effects of the alcohol are far more dramatic and faster on my sober, thinner frame. I begin to feel light-headed, but that's the idea. Hopefully, it will lower my inhibitions enough so I can do what I have to do tonight with less nerves.

All at once, there is a knock at the door, and I quickly hide the bottle away before going to answer it. I find a figure with ashy blonde hair and deep blue eyes on our stoop.

Peeta and I are classmates in school. We became friends after Peeta tossed me some burnt bread one rainy day so my family wouldn't starve. That was five years ago, not long after my father died, and ever since then, Peeta has been bringing leftover bread for us. The Baker's youngest son is probably one of only a few men in this district whom I don't openly hate.

Peeta gives me an amused smile at my fancy attire. "Going somewhere tonight?"

I gulp, not knowing how I can lie as easily to him as Mother lied to Prim. But I don't have to. Peeta's eyes narrow as he takes in my lipstick and make-up, the high heeled boots that don't quite fit on me.

Then he connects the dots, and I want to cry. He knows. "Katniss, no," he breathes. "You don't have to do this."

"Oh, don't I?" I crack, screaming as hot tears pool in my eyes. "There is no water, Peeta! There are no ducks. There's barely any meat. I... I..." I can't finish as I burst into tears. I feel Peeta's gentle hand caressing my arm soothingly.

"Oh, Katniss... I would give up a thousand bakeries if I could stop this..."

I touch my palm to his cheek. "I don't think even the President himself could stop this now... Goodbye, Peeta," I say sadly.

Peeta stares at me forlornly. And then his gaze becomes hardened, determined.

Before I can do anything, Peeta seizes me by the shoulders and kisses me soundly on the lips. I let out a muffled, surprised squeak into his mouth, my eyes bulging. My uncertainty allows Peeta to curl his arms about me. He gallantly dips me in his embrace, holding me gently.

"Hmmm!" I whimper, even if I know Peeta would never let me fall. All the same...

I know Peeta is in love with me. He has been since we were in kindergarten, poor boy. He has never been one to be subtle about where his affections lie, and even though I have been aware of his crush on me, I have never openly acknowledged it. I haven't even discouraged him, as he has never made an advance this bold and is so innocent. He's a kind boy. A good man. So maybe it is for my pity at his hopeless love, maybe it is because the alcohol has clouded my judgement. Whatever it is, I soon find myself closing my eyes and wrapping my arms about him to make sure I don't fall. Awkwardly, I turn my lips into his as I begin to kiss Peeta back. I find myself humming in pleasure now: "Hmmm..."

We stay like this for a few moments. Then, my eyes pop open to see Mother watching the scene in stunned silence. Peeta whisks me to my feet again, out of the dip, and I take the chance to gently, yet assertively, push him away.

But Peeta looks triumphant rather than rejected. "At least that was your first kiss. They can't steal that from you." He squeezes my hand. "Be careful, Katniss." And he leaves.

As Mother and I exit into the frigid fall a moment later, I expect her to ask me if I am in love with Peeta Mellark. If I have feelings for such a man. I don't. But I admit there was a time when I actually entertained the thought of marrying Peeta for the security, to help my family. Besides, he is handsome. And as I said, he is a kind young man, which is not something you can say about really any of the men in 12. In a district ruled by the mines and where men can easily become hard of heart, many husbands can be cold and even abusive towards their wives. If I were to marry Peeta, I would get the deal of a century. Any girl would be blessed to have him as a husband.

Not to mention he's a good kisser...

* * *

Mother and I reach the Barracks. We can actually hear carousing coming from inside. Mother looks at me nervously and squeezes my hand. As a widow and one still grieving to a certain extent, this will be the first time she has slept with, much less kissed, a man who isn't my father. At least, as far as I'm aware.

A leering woman scantily dressed - one of Cray's whores - ushers us in when we knock. The Peacekeepers hoot and holler when they see us, though I get most of the catcalls and leering, the sexual harassment. A young girl. Fresh blood. As soon as they learn I'm a virgin, they'll be fighting each other to claim me first.

And indeed, Cray does, but only after he convinces his Vice Peacekeeper Thread to go in to my mother and lie with her. Thread is an older man with tufts of gray hair and a chiseled, wrinkled face. Mother leads him by the hand into the nearest "bedroom," sending me a terrified look, and my heart goes out to her. I hope that I am bedded somewhere a distance away, so I cannot hear my own mother's cries as she is largely taken against her will by a stranger.

The Peacekeepers argue amongst themselves over who should have me first. All seem more concerned with their glory - both figuratively and... anatomically - than for my own well being.

All except one, that is.

"I'll take her! I need a poke!"

Darius. One of the only kind Peacekeepers I know. A bit of a flirt, and quite the character. With his flaming red hair, he is hard to miss. I consider him a friend. And now he is trying to claim me so that my first time is at least with someone decent.

But Cray shuts down the jockeying. "She's MINE!"

I try not to bristle. Really? Then why did he announce me to the market? But Cray is now dragging me into a private room and slamming the door behind us. He gleefully throws me down onto the cot/mattress, and mounts me, straddling my hips. He roughly shoves my blue dress almost over my head, breaks my mother's bequeathed garter and casts it aside as though it is trash. My panties suffer a similar fate when yanked to my ankles.

Cray roughly kisses me, and I try to return it over my repulsive thoughts. I think of Peeta oddly in this moment, and find myself grateful that he grabbed me and planted one on me; he stole my first kiss from these monsters!

But not my first time. That is made painfully clear as Cray's member slams into me with little regard. I think I can feel my hymen break deep within my core. My eyes sting with sharp tears of pain that slide down my cheeks, tears that Cray kisses away as he slobbers my face with kisses unworthy of a dog. He doesn't do this gesture out of concern for me; to him, my tears are just in the way.

He slides out, slams back in. The cot creaks and sways. My body has no choice but to flop against Cray's, then back into the mattress, with his every thrust.

At last, the beast gives an almighty growl and explodes inside me. I panic, not remembering if he used protection and kicking myself that I did not bravely force him to pull out when he was close.

I orgasm soon after, but it is weak, underwhelming. And I am glad, for I am entirely unethused that I am now no longer pure. In fact, I feel unclean.

Cray rolls off of me, curls up like a child into my side, and goes to sleep. With an arm draped possessively around me. I turn away from him as best as I am able.

And I sob, mourn, for my lost innocence now ripped away from me.


	3. Nightly Patrols

**Chapter 3: Nightly Patrols**

Mother and I continue to operate in, and profit from, Cray's prostitution ring. We usually manage to only go every fourth or fifth night. We fear that going nightly will arouse some suspicion in impressionable Primrose about our line of work, and even our decided schedule might lead her to detect a pattern. But our earnings allow Mother and I enough money to get through an average work week, and even if Prim does spy a pattern in when Mother and I go out, she doesn't raise her findings.

My mother earns a popularity all her own, despite her aging figure, but perhaps the body of a woman who birthed two children is appealing to some men. I hear through word of mouth that she insists in an almost school-marmish way that her visitors use protection in bed. And the Peacekeepers respect this. Huh. Maybe I should try that. I haven't fallen pregnant by one of my customers yet, but it would only be a matter of time until I do with no safeguard. And there would probably be only one Peacekeeper whom I might not immediately seek out an abortion from, if it was his child.

Unfortunately, Darius has still not had a chance to be with me. Perhaps it is due to his age; he is only 20, I hear, and I am sure there are rules about seniority to maintain order in the Peacekeepers' ranks. So it shocks me one night when I answer the door to find Darius on our stoop.

"What are you doing here?" I ask.

"Nightly patrol," he shrugs. "Our assignments have rotated and I was lucky enough to get the Seam."

I hardly think it would be lucky to get the Seam as a Nightly Patrol assignment. Patrolling Victors' Village would be a much more plum task, as literally all an officer would have to do is poke his head in one door, make sure Haymitch Abernathy isn't deceased or otherwise in need of medical attention, and then leave.

Having been taught by Mother to be a polite hostess when a gentleman comes to call, I invite Darius inside. Tonight happens to be an evening when Mother and I have to 'go out,' so Darius readily offers to escort us to the Barracks at the end of his patrol. When he does this that first night, I squeeze his hand in comfort and gratitude. "Thank you, Darius."

"Not a problem. And please, call me Dar," he smiles.

I actually giggle. "OK... Dar," I try it out, amused.

Every night it goes on like this. Darius checks on our house on his patrol. Sometimes he and I have time to chat at the door, sometimes not. On nights when Mother and I have to go to the Barracks, I invite Darius in, Iike a good lady would, and we engage in small talk. Gradually, I feel comfortable enough around the young Peacekeeper to open up about the pain and stress of being a prostitute. When I cry, Darius comforts me.

Additionally, Darius will bring his injured colleagues to Mother and Prim for Healing. Unlike most other folks in 12, these injuries are almost never serious, and those that are serious are almost never suffered in an attack. The Peacekeepers also pay my family handsomely in coins, which takes some of the stress off Mother and I working by night.

As I am always keen to get a fair trade, I await when Darius will at least be allowed to have me one night in the Barracks. I hate the concept of owing someone, but I have prided myself on rendering a fair service for a fair price. For a time, I consider taking Darius one night on his patrols, while Mother is upstairs getting ready. I fantasize of having him one the couch, perhaps administering a blowjob, a handjob or even a lap dance to thank him for his help.

But the more practical side of me refrains and encourages me to be patient. Even as the kindnesses Darius shows to me and my family begin to rack up, making my feeling of debt greater and greater.


	4. Daily Hunts

**Chapter 4: Daily Hunts**

So, in return, I capitalize on every opportunity I can to bring Darius out to the woods with me for hunting. He is not a good shot with a bow at first. One morning, I arrive after him to find Darius literally struggling with how to hold a crudely crafted bow as he fits a even more-crudely crafted arrow to it. When he accidentally lets go of the string and shoots a hole in his pack, I cannot help but laugh. I keep the smile on my face as I saunter over to him.

"Having trouble?"

Darius glances back and shoots me an optimistic grimace. "Oh, I'll get it right. But it may take a while."

I pace around him to get a good look at his bow. It's of average make, really, though clearly homemade. Still, I feel the need to inquire, "Did you make this?"

He grins sheepishly. "Horrible, isn't it? I didn't know what else to do. The fish have barely been biting, and I certainly couldn't afford a professional bow in town."

I shake my head. "It's not horrible. For a novice, it's actually a great first effort. It took my father years to perfect his bow-crafting technique."

Darius tries to lift the bow and straighten it. "You learned all your mad skills from him then, huh?"

I would answer him, if I didn't see how terribly off his stance is. The teacher in me prompts, "Feet shoulder-width apart."

Darius glances at me and obeys. "Now straighten that back." When he doesn't catch my meaning, I press my hand into the small of his back. I feel his skin tingle where my hand rests. I quickly move on.

"Tighten you stomach muscles. The most important thing a hunter needs to control is breathing." I have no choice but to demonstrate as I place my hands on either side of his diaphragm. I feel awkward. I've never been in physical contact like this with anyone other than Peeta. I focus on the man in front of me, trying to keep my voice and body language as casual as possible.

"Relax your shoulders and bring your bow arm down. Your body should be entirely streamlined." This time, Darius needs no prompting from me. I check his bow hand.

"Grip is actually good. Now, breathe in deeply, and release the arrow on the exhale," I tell him.

WHOOSH! The arrow flies and hits a tree dead-on. I smile at Darius.

"Very good! Even Peeta's first shot wasn't as good as that." Besides the fact that this statement is true, I find myself sincere in my approval. I have taught Peeta how to hunt as payment for his bread deliveries.

However, my voice trails off when I realize how close his face is to mine.

Darius smiles back, his voice soft. "So, who's your better pupil: the baker's son or the poor Peacekeeper?"

My breathing becomes ragged. My heart is pounding in my chest; I can hear it beating in my ears. "You..." I whisper, even though I completely forget what he asked me. I barely register how my arms have wrapped themselves around his waist from behind. Darius's face inches closer. My eyes flutter, drooping until they are almost shut. My brain is screaming at me a reminder that I have never wanted this, and that we should stop now before... we... kiss...

Before our lips can touch, I tear myself away. The spell is broken, and I awkwardly clear my throat.

"It's late. I... I have to go. I better go!" Without even bidding him goodbye, I gather my game bag and turn tail for the fence and my home beyond. For the first time in my hunting career, I return home empty-handed.

* * *

Darius and I soon fall into a routine of hunting together almost every day. On one particular morning, I find myself asking him something I have never asked him before. Something I really should have known long before this:

"So, were you born in District 12?"

"I was," Darius smiles. "My father before me was a Peacekeeper here, and also born and raised in Twelve. It is actually a pretty unique story."

"Why?" I ask, intrigued .

"Most Peacekeepers either come from District 2 or the Capitol itself. They are trained in special academies there from a very young age. The exception, of course, is if you are a district resident and you want to enlist. They put the common people, as they are known, through a very strict training regiment to become a Peacekeeper. Few residents of a district pass the Peacekeeper Trials. My father was one of them."

I find this fascinating. "And you."

"Well, that was because I was handling some of his smaller weapons by the time I could toddle. His policy was firm, but fair. Kind of a mix of Cray and Thread, if you will," referencing our two Peacekeeper leaders. "And often my stepmother, Cassiope Fletch…."

I stop dead. "Hang on! You mean to tell me that Cassiope Fletch married your father?" Cassiope Fletch was District 12's very first Victor and only woman to win from here. Victor of the 16th Hunger Games.

Darius nods. "They married in secret. Peacekeepers are technically not allowed to have families. It's not an official rule, but it is highly discouraged. Most Peacekeepers just accept it as a prohibition, but my father broke this and married anyway."

I grow quiet. "What happened to your father?" I ask.

I shouldn't have probed. His eyes grow sad. "He was murdered. Insubordination, they said. It was not until many years later that I would understand just what his insubordination entailed."

Despite the fact that I probably know why Darius's father was killed, I do not press the matter with the young man further. We finish our hunt, and we part ways at the fence. "See you in the Seam on patrol tonight!" Darius calls.

I find myself staring wistfully back at him as he runs off. At least Darius is a kindred spirit, as he stayed single like me. But I wonder why he couldn't have married. He is a kind person, and that's not something you can say really about any Peacekeeper.


	5. Ask a Girl for a Kiss!

**Chapter 5: Ask a Girl For a Kiss!**

My feelings for Darius only grow more murky and confused over the next several days. Even just thinking about or picturing the handsome Peacekeeper can send my heart into a total tap dance, make my palms sweaty, and induce shortness of breath.

I begin to obsess over what I might say if I see Darius again. Of course, I will have very little control over when these words will be uttered.

One morning, I am alone in the house. Suddenly, the phone rings. I pick it up before the first ring is through.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Katniss. It's Darius."

My heart begins to pound furiously. For a moment, the monologue I have been carefully preparing to end this... whatever-it-is before it starts appears in my brain, only to then vanish, like a computer screen going blank.

"Hi. What's up?" My response nearly comes out in a croak.

"I was wondering if you had a free minute to meet me at the Peacekeeper barracks."

A part of me is suspicious of going over there, especially since Darius has not given me any details.

But another part of me - an excited part - urges me on. After a brief internal struggle between suspicious and excited, excited wins. Darius has suggested it will only take a minute. And even if it doesn't, Mother and Prim are out on a house call, to see a patient. Besides, this isn't a date.

"I'll be right over."

I leave a note down on the kitchen counter, that simply says I have stepped outside for a bit and will be back soon. I then steal out of the Seam, and make my way down to the Peacekeeper barracks. Darius is waiting for me outside.

"There's something I want to show you," he smiles when he sees me.

Curious, I follow him down into the barracks. We enter the hallway lined with doors, before walking through it and heading down a stairwell. We must be heading underground, but what would Darius have to show me here?

At last, we come to a gate. Darius produces a key and unlocks it, before then opening the door right behind this gate. He flicks on the lights once we are inside.

We are in a small locker room. On cubbies lining the walls, there are bulky suits that look like the ones worn by astronauts of old in space; I remember reading about them in school. Darius hands me one that looks my size.

"Put this on. You can wear it over your clothes. It's for your protection."

I find myself smiling at him, amused, before doing as he says. Darius also dons a suit.

"Ready?" he asks. His voice comes through in an artificial, echoey way from the helmet on his head. I nod through my helmet.

Opening the door on the other side of the locker room, he and I enter a metallic world. The room is long and vertical - it could probably fit several Seam homes comfortably inside. At the far end are what clearly look like targets. I look to my right and see automatic weapons and guns lined up on a rack.

This is a shooting range.

"I thought I'd show you where I usually perform target practice, and what I normally shoot with," Darius grins at my amazed reaction.

I turn to him with a smirk, amused. "Aren't only Peacekeepers allowed to use guns?"

"Well, since you are so proficient with bows, I think we can make an exception in your case," Darius waves away, handing me a semi-automatic. "I trust you."

For the next hour or so, Darius and I practice our shooting skills. He's right, of course - guns are not all that different from bows and arrows. As we fire round after round, we get to talking.

"How's the Healing business?" Darius asks at one point.

I sigh as I let another bullet fly. "It could be a lot better." I don't know what power this man holds over me that makes me open up, but I do. "Mother and Prim have been... struggling with their finances lately. Sales have been down from what they used to be, and taxes are only going up, year after year. Keeping the business open and sending my nephew to school has made money tight."

Darius is staring at me, a concerned and sympathetic look on his face. I feel embarrassed to have spoken this truth, which is so even after you factor in the business Darius's comrades have bought my family. After a moment of silence, he makes the most stunning offer:

"I don't know how much it would help, but I can always give you a cut of my salary monthly. If it would help pay the bills."

I hate owing people, which is why I almost always refuse acts of charity, out of guardedness and pride. But what Darius is offering to do - a Capitol official setting aside money for a citizen of his District! - is astonishing. My heart bursting with emotion from his generosity, I turn to him with an incredulous stare, even as I accept the donation. "Thank you," I whisper.

Darius smiles.

* * *

I slide into the New Year's Eve party in the Hob with my friend, Bristel. As we enter, we run into Darius. I smile. Darius has always been a bit of a jokester, even a flirt, in District 12. Which is something you really can't say about any other Peacekeeper. No surprise that he's here. But he does surprise me when he asks:

"Would you like to dance?"

I'm a little taken aback, but touched too, and accept. Darius and I join the other dancing pairs in the crowd. We waltz, before the music gets progressively faster and soon we are doing every dance from the polka to the samba. We finish with a traditional District 12 folk dance.

By the time we run off the dance floor, we are sweaty and laughing. We rest up at the bar, where Darius produces two glasses of beer.

"On the house!"

Darius and I quickly polish off that first round. Then another. And another. By late into the evening, we are pretty inebriated.

After Darius buys me an unsolicited drink – my fourth overall, he ponders "Now what might be a fair trade for a free shot of whiskey?"

I shake my head with a smile. "I can't even imagine."

"How about a kiss?" He leans in close to me and grins. "Tis the season, after all; I bet there are still sprigs of mistletoe hanging about."

I let out a bark of laughter and playfully shove him away. "No, thanks."

"Why not? I tell you, Katniss, my kisses are the most sought-after in the District!"

This gets my attention and I smirk. "Oh yeah? With who?"

Darius points out women to me. "Why, the flower seller with the green muffler. Oh, and the milkman's wife! I have plenty of references in these parts."

Darius lays off after a while, and I leave the bar and slip just outside to be by myself. Gazing up into the night sky, I can see the stars twinkling.

"It's a beautiful night, isn't it?" Darius has joined me. I simply nod. Just then, I hear the crowd begin to roar the countdown:

"Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven! Six! Five! Four! Three! Two! One!" There is loud cheering, and soon couples fall into each other's arms and kiss, as is tradition.

It is a tradition to share a kiss with someone when the clock strikes midnight. I don't have anybody.

And neither does Darius. But he quickly finds one.

I let my guard down at the wrong moment. I've been so busy watching the other couples, that I have no time to offer any resistance as Darius turns my face to his, cups my cheeks in his hands and kisses me full-blown on the mouth.

"Hmm?!" I let out a startled squeak, much like the one I uttered when Peeta kissed me out of the blue my first night as a prostitute. But, as the fireworks are heard exploding in the nighttime sky above the Hob, I awkwardly relax into it and try to kiss Darius back. I'm horrible at it, but it is tradition, so…

The kiss overstays its welcome. I begin to squeal in indignation and try to free myself. Besides, he kissed me without my permission. I finally give what would be a strong woman's slap across his face, and Darius releases me, shocked.

"What the…?"

"ASK A GIRL BEFORE KISSING HER!" I snap at him. I don't know why I'm so angry, but I am. It was just one little New Year's Eve kiss! And Lord knows I've been taken advantage of a lot more these past several months. Even so, I stalk out of the party in a raging huff, leaving a stunned Darius in my wake.


	6. You Love Me? OK

**Chapter 6: You Love Me? OK**

They're in rare form tonight. The beasts who only care about getting the ache in their pants relieved. But being drunk, the Peacekeepers in the Barracks are more aggressive than usual. Well, I want no part of any of them tonight unless one of them is sober. I am just turning to leave when a Peacekeeper blocks my way. "And where's a pretty little thing like you going in such a hurry?"

I gulp. "Move aside, please. I have to get home."

"Not until we have a little fun," the Peacekeeper grins. He puts his arms around my waist and forcibly kisses me. His hands wander as he audaciously grabs my butt through my skirt.

"Mmmm!" I squeal, trying to push him away.

"Give someone else a chance!" another Peacekeeper calls, and I feel him come up behind me, trapping me between the two men. Hands grab and squeeze my breasts. I try to elbow the guy in the stomach, but my arms are pinned to my side by the first Peacekeeper's embrace.

I wish I could say this is an extraordinary occurrence, but it isn't. I may only be 16 years old, but apparently I am one of the most beautiful women in District 12. Many men have lusted after me, or made a pass at me, or sexually harassed me. And even though I have been one of Cray's prostitutes for many months, to feed my starving family, I would never allow myself to be debased this low!

Suddenly, both sets of groping hands are torn away, and I hear scuffling and shouts. I quickly touch myself, even though my clothes have not really been disturbed, as if that will cleanse me of the groping that has just occurred. Meanwhile, I see a flash of red hair and blue eyes throwing punches that send his comrades scurrying. Darius.

"Let's go," he tells me, and he leads me by the hand past the gawking onlookers out of the Barracks and back into Cray's entryway. Thank goodness he showed up when he did.

"I'm fine, Darius, really," I try to shrug it off, a little ashamed that he caught me in such a compromising position.

"He should not have been grabbing at you like that, Katniss," and I am surprised to hear Darius's voice shake with rage. "Neither of them!"

"A lot of people try to grab me!" I shrug off, adjusting the shoulder of my dress.

"It's still wrong! No woman should be touched like that, least of all you! You should be treated like a queen, like your body is a piece of glass or 14-karat gold!" Darius passionately says.

I blink in amazement, and feel a little disturbed by what he says. So, I just shrug him off and head sadly out the door. I am too shaken to sleep for my money tonight anyhow. Let Mother earn our keep.

* * *

I do the walk of shame that night in my large overcoat, back towards the Seam. I am crying, my eyes filling with tears of shame over what I have just done.

It doesn't help that I hear someone pursuing me through the quiet, deserted streets.

"Katniss, wait!" Darius's voice pings out a lot closer than I expected as he spins me around by the shoulders.

"WILL YOU JUST LEAVE ME ALONE?!" I wail, refusing to let myself be taken in and then hurt.

Darius just hands me a note. "You don't have to see me again if you just read it."

I glare at him, scowling, as I snatch the letter and tear it open. "This is so fucked up…."

"Yeah, just read it," Darius sighs.

"Dear Katniss:" I stop at the salutation, stunned that it is addressed to me. "I know how you have been acting differently around me….." I raise my eyes over the paper to glance at Darius almost coldly. "I don't know if it's what I think it is, but if you do love me….."

"…. I just want to tell you I return your feelings. I want to help your family! I want to marry you! I love you!" Darius finishes.

His declaration hangs in the silent winter air for a moment. "I wrote that a week ago," he informs me helpfully.

I frown in almost disbelief. "You wrote that a week ago?" Why didn't he give it to me sooner?

"I was trying to be romantic."

I glance at the letter again, then back up at him. My eyes swim with tears and my throat constricts. "You love me?" I croak out. At his nod, I decide to take the plunge. Decide to give myself over to a man who at least cares about me. Decide to take him as my husband, even, and go in to him and lie with him the way I would as a wife. "OK."

I fling myself into his arms. Throwing his arms around his neck so that my hands which still grip the letter splay across his back, I kiss him full on the mouth. Darius presses his lips into mine as he kisses me in return, slipping his hands about my slim waist and pulling me flush against him. Closing my eyes, I lose myself with him in our own world, amidst the twinkling street and Christmas lights of the Seam, and the stars in the nighttime sky.

And as I kiss this man, and as he kisses me back, neither one of us notices a crop of blonde hair and deep blue eyes watching us from an alleyway behind the bakery….. Or the crushed look on his face…..

* * *

I never thought I would don my mother's wedding dress, but I do. It was supposed to be meant for just Prim, and only Prim. But then Darius came along and opened my heart and allowed me to, for the first time in my life, trust my heart with a man.

Darius stops by our house in the Seam one night on his patrol. He has other houses to scan, so we make it quick, toasting a piece of bread, sharing some hastily written vows and sealing it with a kiss over my mother's fireplace. No one feels married in District 12 until after a Toasting like this. It's tradition.

And though I am nervous about a marriage between a Peacekeeper and a poor Seam woman, I tell myself that we will make it work. Somehow.


	7. Shipped Off

**Chapter 7: Shipped Off**

The calls for help reverberate through District 12 unusually early that morning. Well, as unusually early as I perceive it to be, since my body clock has shifted upon becoming a married woman.

I roll over in bed to find my husband, Darius, still asleep beside me. He must not have been assigned a pre-dawn patrol for today. That's nice. Usually, the Peacekeepers are good at informing their recruits who does what when, so Darius has managed to create and maintain a nice schedule.

We don't sleep together every night. Just a few times a week. The other nights, my husband sleeps in the Barracks. It's the best way for us to keep our marriage a relative secret. His explanation for when he comes and sleeps with me in the Seam is that these are the nights he has to patrol through the area, and it's a long walk back. Which is technically true.

Darius and I both rise from the bed we share together, and dress quickly to see what the commotion is all about. When we reach the main square in front of the Justice Building, I can see a figure strapped to the whipping post. A man with ashy blonde hair and blue eyes...

My eyes betray a deep concern and horror as I recognize the prisoner. "NO!"

I run in between Peeta Mellark and the whip that Thread is using to flog him. I hold out a hand, but Thread merely brushes me aside by punching me in the face. I go down, but shock the Vice Peacekeeper by getting up and defiantly staring him down.

Thread blinks and raise the whip threateningly. "You want another?"

"Go ahead," I goad him. Thread pulls out his gun in frustration, and I actually want to laugh. If he shoots his superior's best prostitute, he is going to be out of a job faster than you can say 'District 12.'

My husband now intervenes, stepping between me and Thread. "Easy... easy..." Now two people are shielding Peeta. I find it brave that Darius would dare to stand up to his own superior, even talk him off the ledge.

Thread looks around at the crowd, who seem to be inspired by our act of goodwill. He has already been humiliated by inciting what could be construed as an act of rebellion, and he knows it. Darius manages to talk the Vice Peacekeeper into letting us set Peeta free. Together, my husband and I carry the injured Baker back to the bakery.

* * *

It is only about a week later when Darius does not come home on one of our agreed-upon evenings.

I wait up all night for him in my nightgown, worried sick. Come morning, I go to the Peacekeeper Barracks and inquire of both Cray and Thread about Darius, as casually as I can. As far as I'm aware, Darius's and my marriage is still a secret. Neither has any answers for me. I ask the same of all his comrades whom I've slept with. No one's seen him. Not since that day the Baker's son was whipped.

Only later do I find out from Haymitch Abernathy that my husband was shipped off to the Capitol and turned into an Avox. Likely for insubordination. Whether that insubordination included marrying me, I may never know.


	8. Farewell Fuck for Luck

**Chapter 8: A Farewell Fuck for Luck**

"Peeta Mellark!"

My heart sinks like a stone when Effie Trinket Reaps Peeta's name as a tribute for the 75th Hunger Games, or Third Quarter Quell. After that, my mind draws almost a complete blank - I don't even think to recall exactly what the special edition twist is for this year. The last time a Quell was held, our very own Haymitch Abernathy won the Crown. But in his drunken state, it's not like he will be of much help. Every tribute the old drunk has ever mentored has come back dead in a wooden box.

Which is why I am one of the first people to the doors as soon as the Reaping is over. I have to say goodbye to Peeta.

The only people who beat me in line are, naturally, Peeta's parents and two older brothers. But I don't begrudge them this, and only pray that they don't see me in line, particularly his mother; she is said to be a witch of a woman who possibly even beats her own sons.

After the Mellarks leave, I am escorted in by a Peacekeeper. I don't even remember the officer's name, only that I have had him in bed in the Barracks on at least two occasions. "You have five minutes," I am told.

As soon as the door shuts behind me, I bravely march right up to Peeta, who stands upon seeing me.

"Katniss? What are you doing here?"

"Ssssh... There isn't much time," I say breathlessly. And with that, I sweep him into my arms and press my lips to his in a passionate kiss. A kiss to return the one he gave me over a year ago. A kiss that, even though my husband is technically in abstentia and I am still technically, legally, married, I feel free to give him now. The poor boy is going to die anyway. As I kiss him, I snap my hand out to cup his length in my grasp, stroking him vigorously, readying him for me.

Peeta moans and kisses me back. After several moments of kissing, I break away from him. I drop to my knees, and throw down his leggings, boxers and all, so that what makes him a man stands at attention for me. Peeta gapes in utter amazement; surely he wonders if this is really happening.

Oh, but it is, as intaking a deep breath, I lean forward and take him in my mouth. In the months on Cray's circuit, I have developed a technique as only a master prostitute would. I swallow him nearly whole, and close my eyes in pleasure. I lazily loll out my tongue to lick the upper reaches of his shaft that are not cradled between my suckling lips. "Mmmmm..." I moan in pleasure. I have by now administered oral sex to many men, and Peeta is probably the most delicious man I have ever tasted. He tastes and smells of freshly baked bread and yeast, warm and yet soft flesh above the hard foreskin organ that is encased within. I realize I am enjoying this far too much, more than is unnecessary. After all, a job is a job. But I don't care. It is not often I get to enjoy the services I render.

Down on my knees, I suddenly feel a sharp pain on my skull as Peeta weaves his fingers into the tendrils of my brown hair. He begins to thrust his hips frantically into my face. I do my best to work around the desperate response my pleasuring has elicited, as my body softens and I return to my work. Even though my jaw is beginning to feel sore from working overtime, let me give him... one more suck... Whatever happens... just let it come.

And come it does, all at once. Or should I say, cum. Peeta gives an almighty groan as he releases himself into my mouth, his juices shooting forth like a geyser, coating my uvula and flowing freely down my gullet. I suck him, gulp him as greedily as a baby. Finally, when the last of his liquid offering has disappeared down my throat, I extract myself from him to review my handiwork.

The only signs that I have been with him is his rapidly shirking penis, now ringed by my smeared lipstick, like a kind of brand. Marking him as mine.

All at once, Peeta pulls me to my feet, and passionately kisses me. I kiss him back as sensuously as I can muster, and when his hands grope low to caress my ass through the folds of my blue Reaping dress, I allow him to feel me up. When he squeezes me ass cheeks, I brazenly raise my leg to his waist. It is almost like muscle memory for me, but Peeta takes it as a sign of approval. Hoisting me up the wall, I fold my legs about his waist, so that the skirt of my dress rides up high on my thighs. When Peeta reaches out a hand to brush my sopping wet panties, I help him shrug them down to my ankles.

Then his bloated member fills me. And I oddly feel more complete than with any other man I've been with. I arch into him, opening up my neck to allow him greater access for the feather-like kisses he bestows there, my jaw going slack. I roll my hips into his member to meet him, a draft in the room tickling the folds of my vagina.

"Uh... Uhhhhh... HUHHHHHH! UHHHHHH! OHHHHHH! Peeta..." I moan and wail incessantly.

Peeta fucks me tenderly, and yet with a sense of purpose that I find quite attractive. At last, with a grunt, he spills inside of me. I actually don't mind that he does; perhaps it will make him feel more special than my Peacekeeper customers whom I always force to pull out before they orgasm.

We separate from our frantic coupling, our frenzied union as man and woman, and redress ourselves silently, not speaking. We clean ourselves up as best we can and still have time to spare before the Peacekeepers come to take me away. In less than five minutes, I have given my childhood friend oral sex and let him screw me anally. I peck Peeta's lips on last time firmly, and whisper against them, though my voice is strangely hoarse, "I love you!" And strangely, I mean it.

The Peacekeepers drag me out and the doors close on the handsome baker's son with damning finality.


	9. Have His Baby

**Chapter 9: Have His Baby**

_He's back from mentoring for another year. Still no Victor since him. But at least I still have him._

_As soon as he stumbles in, I cross from where I have been working on the stove and throw my arms around him. Then, I glance over my shoulder at the little boy standing in the doorway._

**_"Darius, don't be rude. Say hello to your father."_ **

_Our little boy crosses to Peeta._ _**"Hi, Daddy,"** _ _he says quietly._

* * *

I wake up in bed with a start. My heart pangs, and tears prick my eyes. Oh, if only that dream were so!

Peeta does not win the 75th Hunger Games. When I first experience the nausea, two weeks into his ordeal, I think little of it. Just a bad stomach bug. Or perhaps nerves from watching him survive on the Jumbotron every day. By that time, he has reached the Final Eight - the first District 12 tribute to do so in many years. Peeta makes it all the way to the Top Three, in fact, where he enters a big final duel with Thresh, the black brute from District 11 and Cato, the Career beast from District 2. All three men fight fiercely at the base of the Cornucopia for the Crown. Peeta manages to kill Thresh, but heart-breakingly falls to Cato, who was crowned Victor.

It isn't until a few weeks after the funerals of Peeta and his district partner (she died in the Bloodbath) that I begin to feel my stomach swelling. Feel my breasts ballooning. That's when I know I am carrying him. Peeta's baby. Our son.

I keep my pregnancy a secret for as long as I can. But as soon as I begin to show and it is undeniable, the rumors begin to fly. Some people think it is Cray's. If only they knew the truth... no one would suspect that the Baker's son had me in the Justice Building, moments before he left, never to return. Not in a million years.

His family does not know, by the way. Peeta's. If his mother alone knew, she would have a fit. She hates anyone Seam, and would never have allowed any son of hers to be with a Seam woman. She would likely tell the Peacekeepers, and they definitely cannot know. That my fatherless child is the son of a fallen Tribute. Especially a modestly successful one. Because that would mean that Darius would be tempting pickings for any future Reapings. It is rare for Victors to marry and have families, but those that do almost guarantee the participation of any children of theirs in the Games. Even Tributes who get far enough and still die might earn such a fate for their relatives. That's what happened to old Mrs. Conger, the shoemaker's widow. Her daughter was a promising tribute one year; made the Final Four. Her success incited her brother's participation a few years later. He wasn't so lucky, died quickly in the Bloodbath.

Nevertheless, if Peeta had won and become Victor, I would have married him, for the baby's sake. Despite Mrs. Mellark's wrath. Despite risking sending Darius to the Games. I would have married Peeta for the sake of the baby. We would have bought a place of our own, signed the papers at the Justice Building. Had a toasting.

His name is Darius. Darius Peeta Mellark. But his full name is only used within the four walls of my mother's house, where I still live with her and Prim. Out around town, in any official documentation, we have always used the name Everdeen. And giving him the name of my stolen husband might fool people into thinking he is the son of the handsome redheaded Peacekeeper whom people here still remember. Though with his blonde hair and deep blue eyes, the same as his father's, people know he is a Merchant's child. That I fucked a Merchant. Which Merchant has thankfully, so far, remained undetermined to anyone but me and my family.

Mother is aghast when she finds out that Peeta Mellark has impregnated me. I suppose she would have thought I'd be smarter than to bed only a good friend and not someone on our circuit. She even offers to perform an abortion, but I clutch at my abdomen in steadfast refusal, as I have already learned to love the child. This child within me. So, Mother still helps me through my pregnancy, even the delivery.

This is where I find myself now, sitting down to dinner with my family and five-year-old son. Suddenly, there is a knock at the door. Darius runs to answer it before asking to be excused, and I bound after him.

The Witch is on the other side of our door. Peeta's mother. And though Carter doesn't know it, his grandmother. Upon seeing my son, she grins almost in triumph.

"So, it's true, then. This is my grandson, and you're his mother."

I say nothing in reply, but my gaze and silence is affirmation enough. The Witch sweeps inside, followed by her sheepish husband, the Baker, and Peeta's two older brothers. Both of the surviving Mellark boys are married and with families of their own. Oddly, my mother goes to give the Baker a hug in greeting. The Witch stiffens at this, but says nothing.

"So, when did you do it, girl? Fuck my youngest boy?"

I slap my hands over Darius's ears. "Just after he was Reaped. I went to see him in the Justice Building and we..."

"You had sex," she finishes flatly. She scoffs. "I might have known. He was in love with you when he was his age," she gestures at Darius. "And, of course, a Seam slut like you would have fucked him out of pity..."

"It wasn't pity," I snap at her presumption. "I know he always was in love with me, and, well... I gave him the only thing I could. I did not know a child would be conceived." I study the woman who would have been my mother-in-law curiously. "How did you find out, anyway? I've tried to keep it a secret."

The Baker now steps forward and explains how the week before Darius had come in to buy bread. I remember; I had given him the money I had saved up for Parcel Day. Darius had done something while there that reminded the Baker of Peeta, and he had shared his suspicions with his wife.

"We're here to take him back with us," the Witch announces. "He shouldn't be brought up in a Seam hole like this."

Just as I feared. I throw Darius behind me and seize my bow. Cries split the air, but I could care less. I string the arrow and take aim. "No. I won't let you take him." The Witch glares at me, but I stare her down. "If I had gone in instead of your son, I could have won. I can kill you just as easily as an animal."

The Baker places a hand on his wife's shoulder. And she backs down.

"He's not leaving me," I vow. "Not if I have anything to say about it."

"Nor I!" booms a voice, and I stare as Haymitch Abernathy, Victor of the 50th Annual Hunger Games, appears in the door. He enters our house and looks me up and down. "So... you're the girl who opened your legs to him?"

My eyes and gaze remain cold, even as I inwardly smirk at his phraseology; it is vintage of our district's second and only living Victor. "Yes."

Haymitch smirks. "Atta boy," he grins. "Bring out the child, sweetheart. I have something I want to give to him."

I bring Darius out from behind my dress. The way he shrinks into my skirts communicates his shyness in the presence of Twelve's hero. My son knows exactly who stands before him.

Haymitch now kneels before my son, his face one of abject wonder. A name - the name of my son's father - graces his lips. Then, Haymitch presents Darius with a medal. "Your Daddy would have wanted you to have this."

My son and I behold a circular medal - silver in color. It is engraved with Peeta's name. To commemorate how he got runner-up, second place, in the Games. It is tradition for the top three finishers - the Victor included - to receive a medal. No doubt Thresh got bronze, and Cato, the 75th Victor, got gold.

Darius takes the silver medal with a small thank you. Moved, I hug Haymitch.

"The Boy talked about you non-stop, you know," Haymitch says sadly, fondly remembering the closest he has ever come to producing a Victor. "To the day he died. He would be very proud of you and the kid, Sweetheart."

 _He's right_ , I think as I smile down lovingly at Peeta's and my son.  _Peeta would be_.


	10. Marry Again

**Chapter 10: Marry Again**

Many years pass. Primrose grows up and at the age of 18, finds a husband at last. She marries Rory Hawthorne, a kind young man who is a miner and a hunter on the side. At their Toasting, I meet Rory's stoic and reserved older brother, Gale. He's a hunter as well.

Though I normally work alone except on the circuit, I begin to go out into the woods on hunts with Gale. We learn each other's strengths and weaknesses and overtime become quite close. Gale has never been married, and his father died in the same mining accident that mine did.

One winter's day, we are just approaching the fence that borders District 12 after a hunt. I am prattling on about our preparations for tomorrow's excursion.

"I'll reset the snares in the morning, Gale. And then -" I am cut off mid-sentence as Gale suddenly cradles my head in his hands and kisses me. Passionately. And on the lips.

I let out a choked sound in the back of my throat. What is it about me that makes men want to kiss me with no prior warning? Once again, I am completely unprepared. I realized I don't really know as much about Gale as I think I do. Like how his lips taste like oranges. Or how his hands, which can set even the most complicated of snares, can so easily entrap me. After a moment, just as I am closing my eyes and trying to enjoy the kiss, he pulls away.

"I had to do that. At least once. Katniss... will you marry me?"

I stare at him in utter shock. A proposal? Right after our first kiss? That takes a lot of gall on his part, and the practical part of me should say No.

But as I think about it, I realize marrying again would be beneficial to me and especially to my son. Having Gale as my husband would give us security; we wouldn't want for anything.

I say Yes.

* * *

I don my mother's wedding dress for the second time, and try not to think about how worn it feels. It will be a relic from here on out, hanging in Mother's closest.

Gale and I Toast the bread over the fire, and then seal it with a chaste kiss. Mother and Prim and little Darius are present, and so is Haymitch Abernathy.

With the security of marriage, I leave the prostitution ring for good, and take Mother with me. We can live with dignity now. No longer will our dignity be stripped from us as our clothes once were as prostitutes.

Our dignity is ours now, and this time, shall remain so.


End file.
